Bolt the Superdog DrabblesRequests
by ArtistIssues
Summary: Hey there! I, your humble servant, am taking your requests for drabbles or short stories set in the Bolt-the-Superdog Aleternate Universe, or TV-verse within Disney's movie where Bolt actually has powers, which he uses to protect his owner, Penny, from the evil Dr. Calico. Rules are in the first chapter! Leave your requests in the reviews, please! Disney owns Bolt/it's characters.
1. Welcome and the Rules!

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! I know I've been gone forever, and believe me, I know I need to update and finish Bolt the Superdog: Shocking. But I also need to kickstart my Bolt muse if I'm going to finish the fanfic in a timely manner. That's not to say I'm not working on it either way—it'll just get done a lot FASTER if I'm more in a Bolt mood, you know what I mean?**

 **So here's this! Like the title and description say, I will be happy to take requests for Bolt short stories or drabbles here. I'll pick them from your reviews on this fanfic, and I'll devote a chapter to each one that I pick. You can start leaving requests right after you read this! An example: "Hey, ArtistIssues! I'd like to see a story about Bolt saving Mittens from a flood!" Or, "ArtistIssues, can you write me a Drabble about Rhino having a nightmare where he's a bad guy and he hurts Bolt?"**

 **But there are some rules. Here they are below:**

 **1: Your request has to take place in the Bolt-The-Superdog AU. That means in the Drabble I write for you, Bolt has to have superpowers, Penny's dad should be captured by Doctor Calico/The Green-Eyed Man, and she and Bolt are trying to get him back. Beyond that, anything goes!**

 **2\. You can absolutely have Rhino, Mittens, Murk, Puff, Penny, Dr. Forrester, or even Calico himself as the main character in your request! But I won't be writing any stories CENTERED around OCs. Sorry! I just wouldn't feel able to do any OC justice in a short-story or Drabble.**

 **3\. I don't ever write anything above a K rating: can't have any sexual scenes, cussing, or violent dismembering! Fight scenes, a little blood, sure! But no horrible, descriptive maiming.**

 **4\. I'll be picking the drabbles from your reviews on this fanfic. Make sure to tell me as many details that you want about how the Drabble is written, otherwise I may have to make some up, and you might not be satisfied! Just tell me who the Drabble is about, what the setting is, and the things you most want to see happen, and that should do the trick.**

 **5\. I totally reserve the right to pick or NOT pick any of your requests for any reason. It's not because I don't like you or don't like them if I don't pick yours. Maybe I just don't have the time. So please don't spam or complain! I promise I'm checking on everything as soon as possible.**

 **6\. Remember that whatever your Drabble or short-story you want me to right should be just that: short! It should be a scene or an adventure that only takes the characters a day or two to complete. Don't give me a whole new plot to have to think up and explain and condense into one chapter, please!**

 **OKAY! Have fun! I know I will. And stay tuned for the next chapter of Bolt the Superdog: Shocking!**

 **(P.S. I might...MIGHT...accept requests for the fan character of the aforementioned fanfic, Shock. Maybe. It depends on what the request is.)**


	2. Saving the Superdog

**Dear Kryptoltunderdog: Oh my gosh! This is my favorite kind of story to write, actually; I am most inspired by the ones that showcase Bolt's heroism, I think! I've always loved the civilian-protects-superhero shtick. Awesome idea!**

She was minding her own business, trotting along to the familiar tune of her nails clicking against the pavement. Most pets didn't get this kind of freedom in the big city; actually, there weren't many pets in this part of town at all. Apparently those who worked in the business district were too busy to have furry friends. Cats tended to stay indoors, and everyone else obeyed the leash-law. But the dalmatian's Person had lived on this block for six years, and everyone knew that he let his dog out to roam at around noon each day, fully expecting her to come back faithfully within the hour.

"Go on, stretch your legs, girl!" He'd chuckle, leaning on his cane from the backyard door.

The baker on the corner expected the Dalmatian to come plodding down the sidewalk, sniffing at the fire hydrants and lapping up flavorful puddles collecting in the gutters. The taxi cab drivers that circulated in this area knew they didn't have to worry about her stepping onto the street. The cafe across from Waffle World left out a water dish for her. The lady feeding the pigeons always spared her a sweet greeting. The pigeons frequenting the park never failed to share the latest news. And that dimwitted Siamese down Main Street was always easy to surprise, no matter which garden fence she happened to choose as her perch every weekend.

Yeah, everything was always pretty quiet on her rounds of the block...until suddenly, that day, it wasn't so quiet anymore.

The Dalmatian was just sniffing at a particularly interesting mark on the sidewalk outside of Waffle World when the ground shook. She vaguely registered the sound of a helicopter's blades above the dull rattle under her paws. She wasn't an old dog, but she wasn't a puppy either, and no one had ever told her what an earthquake was. Her fur stood on end, and she crouched in fear. Every living thing on the street followed suit; the waitress wiping down one of the outdoor tables across the road screamed and scrambled inside. The old lady on the bench made the same noise of alarm and hobbled backwards. The pigeons flapped in a flurry of terror away from their seats on the wire above, adding to the sudden cacophony of chaos.

Something was in the street. The Dalmatian had to peer around the newsstand she stood behind to see. It looked like a man, but he was huge, much bigger than her Person, dressed in black from head to toe with a strange yellow symbol on his chest that looked an awful lot like a cat's eye. He had a shiny helmet on, like a motorcyclist. The worst of all were his arms, which looked like they should have been muscular, if they hadn't been encased in big sleeves of machinery. They looked like really fancy, scary jackhammers, but with wider ends. The Dalmatian had seen construction before, but she had never seen a human that wore jackhammers for arms. He wasn't wearing all of that bright orange stuff normal construction workers always had on, either. And what human jack hammered right in the middle of a public street? There were big indents of cracks in the pavement on the road beneath him where he'd ruined the same street she'd walked by all her life.

There was something weird, unnatural, and almost...evil...about the way he stood there, so out of place, like he'd appeared out of nowhere. The smell coming off of him was both corporate and dandruffy, like a cat that spent all of it's time in a penthouse office. She knew it instantly in the intuitive way only animals can know things; this stranger wasn't supposed to be here, in this normal city.

The rumbling didn't stop. The stranger bent so his jackhammer-arms touched the ground again and began thumping, rattling the earth again. A car's tires screeched, and the driver, having just come around the block a bit over the speed limit, saw the man in the middle of the road and honked. The Dalmatian couldn't hear much over the horrible hammering from her place, frozen in fear, but she thought she could see that the stranger, not moving, seemed to be laughing wickedly. Didn't he see he was about to be road kill?

The car swerved at the last minute to avoid hitting the man in black—and the Dalmatian suddenly realized it was going to drive over the curb and crash...right into her. For a moment, she was petrified. Then, with a yelp, she broke into a run and bounded in blind fear from her place just as the truck barreled by the place she had been standing and smashed into Waffle World's front door.

The Dalmatian's tail was tucked under her as she stopped, panting, and turned to look. The driver didn't get out of the wrecked vehicle. Her heart thumped in her chest. A weird rumble of laughter sounded right behind her, and she suddenly realized that, in her panic to get out of the way, she had run straight into the middle of the street...right where the mysterious hammer-armed human was standing.

She shrank down until her spotted belly rubbed the road, looking up at him with terror. The stranger loomed directly over her, his giant shadow blocking the sun. He laughed again, and his deep, somewhat dopey voice was tinny under the helmet. "Well hey there, mutt. You're not the dog I'm looking for..." With a pit of horror opening in her stomach, the Dalmatian saw him raise that awful jackhammer arm, strong enough to decimate asphalt. "...But I bet it'll be just as fun to smash you!"

Frozen in fear, all she could see was the metal limb, pointed at her, glinting in the sunlight, it's pumping end pulling back for action...

Then, suddenly, her view was blocked by white and black fur. For a brief moment, she thought it was another Dalmatian—then she realized that this dog, who had slipped between her and the stranger, was white all over, except for one clearly defined spot on his side, the side that faced her. It was shaped like a lightning bolt.

The Dalmatian's heart was still pounding, louder in her ears than the jackhammer had been a moment before. She wasn't smashed. The new dog, it's teeth bared at the stranger, who was just as frozen now in surprise, stopped growling for a moment to turn and look over it's muscled shoulder at her. She saw in an instant that it was a male White American Shepherd, tall ears pointed alertly, brown eyes warm with concern. "Are you hurt?"

"Wha—no...who are...?" She couldn't get her response out in time.

The Shepherd whipped back to the human and fluffed up it's hackles as the stranger's voice boomed. "Hahaha! _There_ you are _,_ Superdog! Calico thought it would take longer for me to get your attention. Guess he was wrong."

The Dalmatian didn't understand what was happening. The Shepherd pressed her back with his shoulder as the evil man took a step forward, hulking with his mechanic arms. "Too bad. I was hoping to get to crush a few people before you got here. Maybe when I settle with _you,_ I can see what the Forrester girl looks like as jelly! Probably redder than just her hair. Heheheh!"

With a sound louder than any snarl she'd ever heard, the other dog cut off his stupid chuckles by leaping straight at him. No fear. No hesitation. His jaws locked around the guy's metal forearm, and to the Dalmatian's surprise, she heard the crunch of his teeth as the bite bent and dented it.

"Hey!" Grunted the guy in alarm, suddenly sounding less confident as he witnessed the Shepherd's power and fury. He staggered a few steps back, away from the Dalmatian. He lifted his left arm, the one the dog wasn't clinging to, and tried to whack his attacker off. He couldn't grab and pull; his hands, if he had any, were encased in the jackhammers' armor.

The canine dropped, already having damaged one arm, and avoided the blow. As soon as his paws hit the ground, he seized the other arm in his mouth and yanked like this was nothing more than a game of play-fighting, like the Dalmatian used to have with her Person. He spun once, and, impossibly, _tossed_ thehuge human with one swing of his head. The big brute didn't go far, but he landed right on the crashed car, shattering the back window.

Her savior turned back to her. He wasn't even panting. "I said, are you hurt, citizen?"

Why was he talking like that? Like some kind of TV Show? The Dalmatian found her voice. "I-I'm fine. Who are you?"

"My name is Bolt. This area isn't safe. You should—"

"Who is that? Why is he doing this? How—how did you—" She spluttered, trying to finish her thought. The words crowded in her brain but couldn't work their way out of her mouth. _How did you get here so fast? How did you not break your teeth on that metal? How did you throw a man eight times your size?_

Bolt took a step towards her. His thick brows met sternly. "That information is classified. All you need to know is that the man in black is here for me—me and my Person, not you. You won't be in danger if you leave immediately."

"What? Why are you talking like that?" Her voice was still shaking. She couldn't make sense of anything, and she hadn't moved from where her body seemed permanently rooted.

She finally started when a roar of anger sounded from the car. The dazed human had finally lifted himself out of the wreckage, his metal arms having weighed him down. Bits of glass tinkled off of his black armor. He brandished his weapons, gave another shout of rage, and charged them, his footsteps shuddering.

"Get out of here!" Bolt barked at her quickly, his voice dropping out of it's heroic posture. He sounded like any normal dog, urgent and sincere. It was strange after seeing what he could do. "Now!"

That was the last thing he said before the villain reached him. He turned back to his opponent just a moment too slow, and the man swung his jackhammer, clubbing the shepherd's entire body in one swipe.

The Dalmatian's whole frame flinched at the sound of the blow, and she was jarred into motion by the sight of the Superdog's small form flying through the air. Without thinking, she turned and ran, dashing for the street corner, passing the whimpering old lady hiding behind the bench.

She stopped when she heard sound of the man's laughter. Her breath hitched. She turned and froze again. It was like that one horrible time she'd seen a possum get run over, only much worse. She couldn't look away.

The dog who had saved her got to his paws. Again, how was that possible? She was sure a full grown _rhinoceros_ would have been knocked unconscious by that smack. A dog should be dead.

His hackles lifted, and his teeth, pearly white like his fur, gleamed. Bolt glared at the CaliCorp. henchman. "Is that all you've got? I've known cats with a better right hook!"

The bad guy obviously didn't understand the dog. He hefted the weight of his limbs and stalked closer. "Here, doggy, doggy, doggy!"

Bolt crouched and pounced, much farther than a natural animal should be able to leap, closing the distance between himself and the baddy. The man batted the superdog's lunge away. Bolt went careening, for the second time, only now he collided with the brick wall of the cafe. The Dalmatian gasped, barely able to see his silhouette through the dust. He was getting back up again. Slower this time. Shaking his head, ears crooked. She heard the jangle of the tags on his collar and remembered that he'd mentioned having a Person of his own.

The awful human laughed, took a few steps closer, and began thrumming the ground with his hammers mechanically. The shockwaves rippled through the pavement. The Dalmatian stumbled and splayed her legs to stay upright. To her horror, it caused more of the cafe's wall to rattle loose and come crumbling down on top of Bolt just as he was regaining his footing.

More nasty chuckling of victory from the human. His shadow crossed over the pile of rubble. Bricks shifted, and although it took nearly thirty seconds, it was clear that. The Superdog wasn't down for the count. But the monster wasn't being taken by surprise anymore. He waited just until the White American Shepherd shoved his way out from under the cement mound, then swung both arms into the dog like two devastating pendulums before Bolt could blink the dust from his eyes.

 _Wham_!

Right into a parked car. This time Bolt flopped to the ground on his side and didn't get up, though he wasn't unconscious. His eyelids scrunched and his jaws gritted, as if he were fighting off dizziness, and his legs shifted, but couldn't seem to find their way to support his weight. He wasn't moving quickly enough; there wasn't enough time. The villain had reached him while he was down again, and he pointed both jackhammers at the dog. The pistons inside his weapons hummed to life and prepared to do their worst to the dazed Shepherd.

"You're what the whole company's been afraid of all this time? They should've sent me in sooner! I guess CaliCorp. doesn't have to worry about pest control anymore—hey—what the...?"

He whipped around, interrupted, to find the Dalmatian yanking on his boot. She was pulling as hard as she could, but his leg was as firm as a tree trunk. She wasn't large, or strong, and she didn't know how she had found herself back out here in the middle of this. All she knew was that that dog, Bolt, could do amazing things, and no matter where he came from or who he was, he had saved her. He was clearly someone mysterious and important, but he'd taken the time to save her, and he was risking his life to save her block. She was terrified, but she wasn't going to stand by and let something happen to this hero.

She released the man's leg when he turned and promptly wilted, fright creeping into her moment of bravery, but didn't run. She couldn't see his face under the helmet, but he seemed completely discombobulated. "Stop it, l-leave him alone!"

The man seemed to inhale to start laughing again, and that was the last thing she registered before a blur of white arced around him. She felt a tugging sensation around her neck, and her surroundings turned into a kaleidoscope of colors in a whoosh. Suddenly, she wasn't out in the middle of the street anymore. Now she was safely at the corner of the block, her flank pressed against the familiar bakery's ivy-crawled wall. Bolt was standing in front of her, releasing his grip on her collar. Had he...pulled her here? She couldn't even remember feeling her paws move. How fast could he run?

For an instant, their eyes met. His were brown, clear, and caring. Then he was a blur of snowy fur again, leaving her there and zipping back around the corner. All of a sudden, a wave of dizziness from the speed she'd just moved at swamped the Dalmatian. Through it, two or three fluttery thoughts, disjointed and simple, emerged. _Who is Bolt? He saved me again. A 'Superdog'...? And I helped him. How can he do all of that stuff? He's amazing. I can't believe I did that! What's happening now?_

By the time she got back around the corner, Bolt the Superdog had re-engaged the threat. But this time, he definitely had the upper hand. He seemed to have decided it was time to stop messing around and go all out. Instead of tackling the evildoer, now he was displaying a completely new tactic. The Dalmatian could only assume that the streak of white, zooming in a speedy circle around the human, who was looking bewildered and unsure of how to react, was Bolt.

Unbelievably bright lances of green energy were pulsing out of the blur of motion that had the henchman trapped, and if she paid close enough attention, she could just barely register Bolt when he stopped running and stared hard at the villain before continuing his dash. The green lasers that seemed to pepper the villain from all sides, burning into his armor, were coming from Bolt? He had _laser vision_ , too?!

One of the man's jackhammer arms suddenly exploded, hit at just the right place by a laser blast. The man screamed, all traces of smug laughter gone, and staggered to one side, right into the mouth of Bolt, who caught the other arm and tossed the criminal again. He didn't give the man time to recover. With a growl, he leaped into the air, high, and came back down in a super ground-pound, throwing his strength and force into the weight of his paws as they landed on the cement inches from the downed villain's feet.

This mini-quake was much more forceful than anything the jackhammers had made. It had blown the pavement where Bolt now crouched clean away. It's shockwave didn't carry all the way to the Dalmatian, but it blasted the man in black into the very same car he'd swatted his foe.

Bolt topped it off by blasting the man's remaining arm where he lay in the wreckage with another green jolt. The resulting small explosion didn't leave the man any option for getting back up.

The Dalmatian padded closer, her head low, ready to sprint away again if she needed to. But her eyes were on the mystery Shepherd who stood, victorious and unshaken, in the aftermath of the middle of his own private quake epicenter, still facing the former threat.

She stopped, watching him in awe, and knew that the pigeons and people nearby were doing the same. When he finally did turn around, burning green residue fading from his gaze, he caught sight of her. There was a moment where they looked at each other and didn't seem to know what to say—she was suddenly feeling starstruck, though she couldn't put a name to it, and he didn't seem used to this type of situation, if she had to guess.

Police sirens pricked his ears, getting closer.

He looked at her seriously and nodded. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm-I'm fine. I'm okay." She stammered, surprised he'd even spoken to her again. He opened his mouth, but was cut off by a weak, groaning laugh from the defeated man. A wary snarl wrinkled the superhero's muzzle.

"You think you've won again, mangy mutt?" Croaked the man through the smoke of his destroyed arm-machines. "Hehehe...joke's on you. I was just the distraction. How do you think your precious Penny's doing on her scooter, all alone? Always on the move. Maybe you should've thought twice before stopping to bother with me, huh? Heheheheheh..."

In the blink of an eye, Bolt had wrenched the car's back doors off of their hinges and clubbed the villain over the head with it, silencing him. Then he dropped it with a clang, listened to see how close the sirens were, and whooshed away.

The Dalmatian whipped around to see him pause, a step away from her, and look solemnly over his shoulder. Right at her. There was gratitude, a little surprise, and something else in his eyes...curiosity? "Thank you." He said quietly.

And then Bolt the Superdog was gone. Off on another adventure.

But there was one Dalmatian in a city that never forgot him.

 **Hope that suffices! Thanks for the request; keep on sending 'em! As you can see, I'm trying to get to them pretty fast, and there are ways to get around the 'No-OC/fan character Rule! I really enjoyed doing this one.**


	3. Nobody but Bolt

**Dear starfiction123: This one took me a long time to do because the brilliant idea ran away with me! Anyway, I hope this suffices for you! Happy really really REALLY late brithday! And valentine's day!**

* * *

He had simple yellow eyes. He was very overweight. His fur poofed in weird places like the base of his tail, or his elbows, or his chin. He was a bright, annoying orange. He smelled like hand sanatizer and old litter. He had no respect for personal space. He always had a piece of his last meal in his teeth. He spoke too loudly. He didn't take no for an answer.

He was called Whiskers. And he was a total jerk.

Mittens had spent almost two months as a spy for Bolt in CaliCorp., pretending to be one of the Green-Eyed Man's _thousands_ of pet cats. The eccentric villain was so obsessed with felines that he had at least five in every one of his bases all over the world for his pleasure in case he ever visited. She blended right in.

Of course, it was hard. Mittens was only a normal—declawed—cat; working to stop an extremely complex, global, _human_ organization of evil with nothing but her wits and the newest addition to Bolt's circle of allies, a crazy but oddly helpful hamster named Rhino. Mittens knew she had it rough, pretending to be as devoted to the Green-Eyed Man as the other lazy, spoiled pets here, all the while trying to somehow get information from overheard conversations and rumors that might be useful to Bolt the Superdog. That was difficult enough, considering she hadn't heard, personally, from Bolt in two weeks. He and Penny were constantly on the move, going from hideout to hideout, running from The Green-Eyed Man's clutches and searching for where he was keeping her father. Boy, if only Mittens could snag _that_ little gold nugget of info!

They usually communicated by bird, she and Bolt. Animals couldn't just shoot each other a phone call, especially secretive Superdogs and spy cats. It was a good thing that Bolt had just saved a few million pigeons from CaliCorp.'s influence around the same time he'd met Mittens, so now the feather heads carried messages whenever he could send them, and whenever Mittens could sneak out to receive them.

But she hadn't had a good, really useful tidbit of intel for a while, and this was one of the rare times that the heroic duo had managed to drop completely off of CaliCorp.'s radar. She was worried about what might make the two lay low for so long. Penny was always anxious to get closer to the end of her mission, and Bolt hated to let the Green-Eyed Man get away with _anything._ They shouldn't stay quiet for long.

If it was hard for her, it must have been worse for Rhino, who couldn't even pretend to socialize with the humans or cats in any base. He had no one to talk to but Mittens, when she had the time and no one was watching the shadows. Any of the cats would probably liked to have turned Rhino into a snack, if they weren't so lazy, and at best they would question why a hamster was hanging around a black market organization. The henchmen who didn't try to exterminate him or take him home might even turn him back over to the scientists as a convenient lab rat. Still, he was content to watch the security cameras or computer rooms, which he called the 'Magic Boxes'. The Green-Eyed Man was a complete lunatic; he had hidden cameras and drones all over the planet, and every henchman or armed squad of his that went out to find Penny had cams built into his helmets. He had almost the whole world wired, and Rhino got to watch it all. He probably would have preferred TV, but he was glued to the monitors for any glimpse of Bolt, his idol, that could keep Mittens up to date on their location.

Mittens sometimes wondered if she would have preferred that part of this job. Sure, she got to stretch her legs and go almost anywhere she wanted, but it meant hanging out with the other cats. Honestly, what had her life come to that she enjoyed the company of a White American Shepherd and hamster more than that of her own kind? 'Course, not all cats in the world were as awful as the spoiled-rotten, sloth-like, pompous ones that were owned by CaliCorp.

The worst of them was Whiskers. He seemed to have taken some disgusting interest in Mittens the moment she showed up at this base. It was a small one; she had travelled here with one of the higher-ups, hoping to land in the same base as The Green-Eyed Man himself for once, but no such luck. He was on the move more constantly than the Forresters. It was somewhere in Las Vegas, that much she knew. Rhino called this place The Locker. He loved to nickname things. It was a secret floor beneath a casino uptown, nothing special. It held most of CaliCorp.'s aforementioned footage from his spying cameras all over the world, and was one of the bases where the villains kept their scientists, working on things like new weapons to throw at Bolt and Penny, or trying to figure out the Professor's secrets on their own.

Whiskers was a pest. He somehow managed to be loafing around every corner she turned, despite being about as in-shape as a veteran hot dog vendor. He was like a bad rash. At first his flirting had been startling, and Mittens might have been flattered—except that she'd never had anyone give her this kind of attention. She didn't know what it was _supposed_ to be like, but she hated the way _he_ did it. He was too persistent; obnoxious so that she would notice, yet never putting any real effort into getting Mittens to like him. She didn't think he _wanted_ her to _like_ him, exactly. She got the same vibe from him that she guessed pigeons used to get from her; Whiskers wanted control over Mittens, and he wanted everyone to know that he had it. He didn't have any real interest in the tuxedo cat's personality, interests, or well-being.

But Mittens was no pushover, and she could take care of herself. He was an annoyance. Until one day it was worse than just annoying. His little obsession got dangerous.

Mittens was edging out of an air vent. It had been her idea to use the ventilation systems in every base as her own private, secret entrances and exits to useful or important rooms. Rhino normally spent most of his hiding days in there, too.

She had slid out, pawed the grate back into place (hanging pretty loosely by one nail) and was on her way down the corridor. It was colored by bland, white electric lights and had an equally uninteresting odor of thin dust and plastic. She was thinking about getting something to eat; nothing interesting enough to skip lunch was presenting itself for spy opportunities, and besides, the only thing she really appreciated about CaliCorp. was how well they fed their cats.

"Well, if it isn't Mitzy!" Drawled a voice. A hated voice, using the nickname that had become just as hated because he was the one who'd come up with it. She was surprised to hear it in the business wing of the Locker. Most of the other pet cats stayed in the scientist wing, where there were more places to loaf around waiting to get petted. Mittens hesitated so she could give proper energy to her eye-roll and sigh, but didn't turn around.

"Whiskers." She grunted dryly before continuing down the hall, close to the wall. If she hadn't been as desperate as usual to avoid him, she might have noticed the extra excitement in his voice. There was definitely a change. But she was completely unprepared for the turn their conversation took.

His blobby paws and grimy claws skittered on the floor behind her, much to Mittens' dismay.

"So, it's supposed to be a clear night." His voice was whiny, but eager. She could smell tuna on his breath and feel his unruly, long whiskers brushing her shoulder. She picked up the pace.

"Yeah? Thanks for the weather report."

"How's about you and me go _star-gazing_ tonight? You can catch me a rat or two. That's an alley-cat thing, right?" He swaggered closer, but Mittens kept walking. "I like 'em rough-and-tumble."

Mittens scoffed. He tried this all the time. She used to think the moron had no idea how condescending he sounded when he brought up her background on the streets (which all of the CaliCorp. Cats lorded over her,) but after a week of having him press her, she was pretty sure he didn't care. He had no interest in being gentlemanly. "Nah, think I'll pass." She broke into a trot, heading for the corner and hoping to leave him at that.

Whiskers stopped, as if preparing himself, and she heard the orange tabby's words take on a louder, downright commanding edge. "What you _meant_ to say was, you'd love to and you'll meet me at the main cat-flap at dusk tonight."

Mittens' white muzzle pursed, and her eyes halved under a glower. She had had about enough. _Oh, that's how it's gonna be, huh?_ Who did he think he was talking to? One of the pretty Persians in the lounge who could be pushed into bringing him his kitty treats and cream? She turned back around, tail lashing.

"No, what I _meant_ to say was, go play in a cement mixer." She flattened her ears and went to leave. He wasn't worth more time.

For a moment Whiskers seemed taken aback enough, but then he shouted after her. "You know, I wouldn't be so cold if I were you!"

He just wanted attention. Why didn't he get it? Mittens didn't slow, but she was glad to keep turning him down. "Well, you're not me." She called back absently. Almost to the door.

Again, there was a pause, like he was trying to decide what to say, and then Whiskers finally got her to stop. "You're right! _I'm_ not a traitor!"

Large white paws halted. Her wide eyes inflated. No way. He couldn't. He couldn't have figured it out.

Whiskers saw her stop and raised his yowl to an even more irritating octave and continued. " _I'd_ never associate with _any_ dog. Especially not _the_ dog. The _Superdog."_

Every word was driving a stab of horror into the black-and-white feline and Whiskers knew it.

"But you do more than just associate with _Bolt_ , don't you, Mitzy?" He was walking towards her, taking his time. "You talk to him. Tell him what's coming when The Green-Eyed Man sends out the orders. Give him and that kid he's always with a warning."

Her heart thrummed against the inside of her skinny white chest. This was not happening.

"Didn't think I'd figure it out, didja? You thought your 'streetwise' wits were good for something more than dumpster diving? Thought you were fooling everyone." He sidled up to her, leaning in close enough for their fur to brush. "You didn't figure on a sharp guy like me catching you. Gotta admit, I didn't think you were complicated enough for this little secret."

Her time on her own had taught her enough to snap back from her surprise quickly, if lamely. She turned to face him head-on, which got her flank conveniently away from Whiskers'. Needle teeth bared in a weak smile. She waved her tail in an attempt to look as ditzy and innocent as any gal here, but couldn't help the nervous way her eyebrows pointed up. "Huh? Wh-Whaddaya talkin' about, Whiskers? Warn that Superdog character? Y-you mean the one the boss hates so much? Me? Uh, I think you got the wrong cat. Been hanging around the catnip?"

Whiskers lurched forward until they were nose to nose. She recoiled from his stench and hit a wall. He had her cornered, literally and figuratively, and now that he knew it, he wasn't pulling any punches. He had never been so confident and aggressive before. It was a sign, one which left a sinking feeling in her gut, that he was sure of his own info. "Don't pull that routine on me, hon! I _saw_ you coming out of that air vent just now."

" _Pssh_!" Mittens forced a scoff and waved a paw as if to swat away his accusations. _But he knows I use the air vents!_ "Yeah? So what? It's less crowded in there." She arched a brow meaningfully and tried to slip around him. "So I have a few weird habits. Doesn't mean anything."

Whiskers blocked her path. "Oh, no?"

She warmed to her own defense. Maybe he had been guessing after all, and now she could call his bluff. "You kiddin'? 'Course not! Remember, I used to work the carrier pigeon angle _for_ the Green-Eyed Man, you know, before I moved up on the food chain around here. No way I'd..."

"So it must have been some _other_ cat I saw watching the surveillance videos from on top of the file cabinet the other night? I was following _another_ kitty until she went outside yesterday to check with a pigeon and ask him if he's had any word from Bolt, _the_ Superdog? Really? What other _declawed_ , slippery little alley gal do we have in this base, hmmm? Let's see..." He leaned forward again and stepped on one of her paws. She pulled back with a gulp, but he was heavier than her. "...Oh, that's right— _None._ "

Mittens swallowed. Whiskers pressed harder on her foot and loomed over the black feline, his tufty tail swooping back and forth behind him. "Now, this is how it's gonna work, Mitzy. You're gonna be my date tonight. And every night, any time, anything I want. You're _my_ girl now, and you do everything I say."

His voice had gotten so sinister and certain that it infuriated the independent feline. Whiskers had never been this horribly _forceful_ before. The coward knew she'd stand up to him unless he thought he had something to hold over her. She yanked her foot firmly out from under his and shoved herself into _his_ personal space, earning herself some room from his surprised step back. "You're outta your mind, ya moron!" Her Bronx accent spat at full force. "Get it through your head—never gonna happen! You can't threaten me. So what, you got some dirt on me. Big deal! Whaddaya gonna do, meow the message to the humans? Face it, you got nothin'!"

Whiskers fluffed his patchy coat. "Yeah?!"

"Yeah!" She snapped.

"Well, how would you like it if I led the other cats in the next time you go for a late movie night in the surveillance room? Wonder how they'd take to that. Or maybe I'll pay your pigeon buddy a visit during another of your little rendezvous?" He flexed his claws, right in front of her nose, and Mittens' anger dwindled to real fear. " _Or..._ I guess I _could_ take _care_ of our little traitor-problem right here, right now."

He slapped his paw down close to hers, and she noticed how much bigger his mitts were than hers. Worse, she had no claws to compare with his, unsheathed and glinting dully. But he'd never been bold enough to be physically aggressive with her before. Even though she was sure he could overpower her, she wasn't convinced that he really had the guts for murder. Not because it was wrong, but because it was too serious, too much work, for him. But she'd never been the spectacularly brave type. Mittens' voice was shaking when she stammered, "You? Oh, yeah, I'm _really_ scared. Th-there's no way. The humans wouldn't just l-let you..."

Whiskers hissed. "Don't think so? I wonder what the other cats'll think when I tell them about your 'weird habits'. I've been here for three years; they'll believe anything I tell them. I bet they'd be _happy_ to help me with your loyalty problem."

Mittens searched for a retort, but there wasn't one. All she could think of in the moment were the slit-eyed stares the other, lazy CaliCorp. pets gave her. No matter what base she was in, they detested newcomers, especially an alley cat. They all wanted nothing more than human attention, and as much of it as they could get. They didn't take kindly to new threats to their share in the food, petting, space. In that moment, she knew that all of Whiskers' threats could be carried out. One look at his dull tangerine eyes and she was sure they _would_ be carried out. If she didn't do what he asked.

Rhino was watching a two-week-old recording of Bolt. It was just a traffic camera's glimpse of the Superdog passing by with Penny close behind, but it was the last time CaliCorp. had seen the duo. The hamster was convinced he could use some kind of incredible detective power to pick up a hint as to where they were headed if he watched it often enough. Luckily, the henchmen were keeping it on loop so that they could try and accomplish that very goal, too.

Mittens' meow echoed through the air conditioning behind his hamster ball. "Rhino! You back there?"

Rhino's ears twitched, and he rolled himself around to face the vent. "Wha-What's the problem? I'm kind of in the middle of—"

"Come on, rodent, get out here!" Now that she knew he was back there, she sounded positively desperate.

"Yoinks, cat, who tied _your_ tail in a not?" drawled the hamster as he wheeled down the dark metal duct. From the light shining through the next grate, he could see the former alley girl's large white toes outlined just beyond.

"Someone knows my secret." She hissed, crouching to be on level with her comrade. There wasn't time to be anything but direct.

Now the hamster was all ears and very large brown eyes. His pink feet pressed against the plastic of his toy ball. "What did you say?"

She flattened her ears at his dramatic, breathy voice. "One of the other cats figured out I'm spying for Bolt."

"A leak? What? Ughh, this is terrible! If word spreads, the entire undercover operation could be compromised!" Rhino dragged his fingers through the fur around his ears. He raised one spot eyebrow back up at Mittens. "Never send a cat to do _Rhino_ 's job!"

"Oh, and I suppose you could've been more careful, Captain Subtlety?!" She rolled her green orbs, tail whipping.

"Please! Which one of us is the master of stealth? Don't even try to compete with all of _this_ —you'll only embarrass yourself!" He gestured to his own small pudginess with pride.

Mittens scoffed. "Whatever—listen, I don't know _how_ he figured it out, but he did. So now we gotta—"

"Who? Who is this saboteur?" Snarled the hamster with an over-eager twitch that made Mittens shush him.

"His name's Whiskers." She spat the name out like a bad taste. "Orange tabby. Been here three years and wouldn't know what the word 'no' means if a dictionary for it dropped on his head. He hasn't told anybody yet, but—"

The squeaker interrupted her. "Well, that settles it. Find out his favorite sleeping spot; tonight, we gotta whack him."

"Are you outta your _mind_ , ya moron?!"

Rhino spluttered indignantly and waved his fingers. "You've been made! He knows too much! The threat must be nullified!"

" _Shhhh!_ Not so loud! Jeez, little lunatic." She looked uneasily over her shoulder. "Right, a declawed cat and Rhino the _hamster_ stand a real good chance against a cat that eats six meals a day, regularly. I don't think he knows about you yet, and we're gonna keep it that way. You know if Whiskers sees you he'll chew you up like a fuzzy dumpling." The widening of the hyperactive hamster's eyes reminded her that he thought he was one step away from being an action hero at all times, so she rushed to cut off his protests. "Look, I'll handle it. I only came down here to let you know you gotta lay low. We both need to keep our heads down for a while, until this whole thing blows over. Got it?"

He didn't look convinced. Of course, the fanboy was anything but patient...unless the commercials between his shows happened to be about meat lovers' pizza. "Ha! 'Blows over'?! Yeah, right. He already knows you're a double-agent. What's to stop him from exposing you to the enemy?"

Mittens felt a shudder squirm it's way down her spine and lash out her tail as she answered. " _Ugh_...don't worry about it." Just thinking about what she would have to do made her want to blow tuna chunks. "He's got a thing for me. Figures the only tom interested is the biggest moron on the face of the earth. He says he'll keep his yap shut if I...y'know. Give him what he wants."

To her surprise, Rhino looked genuinely furious, realization stamped on his animated face. He gasped dramatically. "Blackmail? Th-that...that vile vermin! The only thing worse than conspiring against Bolt with the Green-Eyed Man would be using this, knowledge of a noble cause, for his own selfish gain! How dare he disrupt our mission with his petty interests!"

Before he could start squeaking ' _DIE! DIE!'_ at the top of his pint-sized lungs and charge the first CaliCat he came across, Mittens slipped a foot between the vent's bars and rattled his ball. "Hey! Hey, Rhino, wouldja shut up?! Seriously, be quiet, please!" She sighed, checking again to make sure no one was around before turning back to her partner. "Look, I know it's a lousy deal, but it's the only one we got. At least until we can change bases. All I gotta do is play along."

Rhino was rubbing his ears again. "Wh-what if he just follows you from base to base? I mean, he could ask you to do anything with information like this. No feline scum would just give up an advantage like that! No offense," he added dryly.

Mittens felt her own hopes and resolve dwindling. The rodent had a point. But what else could she do? The thought of one of her pigeon messengers or even Rhino himself getting so much as threatened by Whiskers' claws was enough to make her tail puff. She couldn't protect them—no way. They just had to wait it out. She sighed. "We gotta make it work, all right? All he's gotta do is say one word to another cat and they'll all turn on us. We'll be run outta every base we come to. That means no more helping Bolt with his mission." She raised an eyebrow meaningfully at him and the hamster finally seemed to deflate reluctantly. "So, from here on out, no more rendezvous. No more pigeon meetings. No more signals unless it's an emergency. Understand?"

Strangely, she felt a pang of loneliness even as the hamster straightened up, balling his bitty fists behind himself gravely. "Fine. We'll go dark...for now." He turned and began pattering ominously away, his ball rolling back into the shadows of the air duct.

Mittens scooted closer, calling after him uneasily. She didn't like the determined, actionable look in his eye. "Wait, wait, Rhino, hold up! Don't do anything until I give you the word, okay? _I'll_ give you the all-clear when we're ready to hop bases! You listening, rodent?"

She sighed raggedly as he disappeared with no response, sitting up. They wouldn't be able to communicate together, even living under the same nefarious roof, for a while now that her cover was blown. Whiskers might catch her chatting with him, and she didn't want to put Rhino in the same jam she was in. "See ya later, little nutjob."

As she padded back to the kitchen of the Locker, surrounded by lounging cats, she'd never felt more alone. Was she crazy, or was she missing Rhino already?

She had tried avoiding him more than ever. She'd hidden in utility closets, made litterbox excuses, and taken her sweet time whenever he asked her to fetch his milk bowl or catnip. But there was no escaping Whiskers. If he'd been like a bad rash before finding out her secret, he was like a _disease_ now. No matter what she did, Whiskers found her. Just being around him gave Mittens a hairball. He stank. He had even less of a concept of grooming himself than she'd thought. And he _never_ stopped eating! Mittens loved a good meal, but this was ridiculous. She'd seen gutter rats with less jiggle when they walked.

But she couldn't tell him to buzz off anymore. She couldn't even leave his sight for more than three hours before he noticed and started breathing his horrible threats in her face.

The first 'date' night, out in the alley, Mittens had put up with him until she couldn't stand his droning on about his claw-sharpening habits and told him she was going to get him his _third_ dumpster snack of the evening, then ducked behind a trash can and hoped he would give up and go inside for the night. No such luck. He'd swaggered into the alley, caterwauling her name, and disappeared again. She had waited until she was sure he'd gone in through the cat flap, and was just about to slip in herself when out he came again, this time with two Persian kitties following him, wrinkling their flat noses at the smell of the great outdoors.

"Yeah, I saw Mittens go out here earlier. She was acting _strange_. I mean, _really_ strange. Strange and _suspicious_." He had been yowling to them loudly and meaningfully as he led them into the alley, obviously expecting her to hear him from wherever she hid. "I'm tellin' you, girls, that alley cat could be _trouble._ You know how new she is. Maybe we should keep a closer _eye_ on her. Slipping out here at all hours of the night? Who knows who she could be _talking_ to."

She couldn't risk any of the other lazy furballs even _suspecting_ her, and Whiskers knew it. Heart pounding, she had popped out from behind the can immediately and laughed it off, feeding the blank _-_ faced Persians some line about missing her grungy alley-cat life until they had scoffed and gone back inside. She'd had three seconds of relief that they seemed as bored with her as ever before Whiskers was in her personal space, his yellow eyes deadly slits.

"Try ducking me like that again, Mitzy, and I'll tell the others to use you as their _scratching post_!" He had hissed. "You're _my girl_ now, remember? Being _my_ girl means you don't leave my sight. Got it?"

It only got worse from there. For the next week, he made her life a living litterbox. Whiskers had her carrying and fetching for him, checking him for ticks—of which there were plenty—and, worst of all, massaging him. Why couldn't he just get one of the henchmen to pet him?!

Well, she knew why. Every time she heard him open his mouth to drawl something to the other CaliCats as she picked through his coat, every time he flopped his tail over her shoulders and squashed her closer to him as they walked past henchmen, she knew exactly _why_. Same old same old. He wanted to parade her around, show her off as his newest toy.

"A little to the left, hon." He garbled out between chews of a ham sandwich she'd stolen from one of the guards on lunch break. Mittens reached to pick through the fur on his left shoulder, caught a whiff of his musty, greasy body odor, and promptly gagged. She screwed up her muzzle and sucked in a deep breath, trying to hold it while she nudged orange flab that might have once been muscle.

"Anyway, like I was saying," Whiskers nodded coolly at the other two cats dozing in a patch of window-filtered sunlight across the room, "After three years here, you get used to all of the hubbub."

"Not me." Drawled one of them, stretching out on the ground. "I jump every time one of the guards comes around the corner. They look like bugs in all of that armor."

Whiskers leaned closer to Mittens. She tilted away. His voice was as whiny and condescending as ever. "Nahh, you're way too jumpy. You know if you come right up to one they _have_ to pet you?"

"Really? Carrying those guns around?" The white she-cat in the corner was a transfer from the Tennessee base a few months back.

"Yeah. It's in their job description. We're practically _royalty_ here. I mean, they may be busy humans, but it sure beats living in an alley somewhere. Ain't that right, Mitzy?"

"Ah, yeah," Mittens piped quickly as he nudged her, hoping that if she responded fast enough she could avoid touching him again. "This is the life." She managed to fit a good eye-roll in there.

Yep, a solid seven days of this. She _preferred_ sleeping on newspapers and drinking from puddles. Who wouldn't? And it got worse as time went on. She had kind of hoped that the novelty of having her as his trophy/personal servant would wear off and get boring to the fat tom, but instead, he only seemed entertained by the challenge of coming up with more things for her to do. Two days ago, he'd told her to 'use those alley-cat tricks' to steal the Locker lieutenant's entire lunchbox.

"What?" She'd spluttered. "Steal from the head-honcho of this base? That's impossible! He'll see me!"

"So?" Whiskers had shrugged, making jiggly waves in his back fat. "Quit your griping. He's a CaliCorp. employee, remember? They can't do anything to us. Besides, I'm starved."

"You just ate not twelve minutes ago! Forget about it, I'm not doin' that." Mittens had stubbornly turned her head away.

Whisker's hard, eerie whine, more common since their little 'agreement' started, had been close to her ear. "What you _meant_ to say was, you'll get me that lunchbox as quick as you can because you _loooove_ to give me what I want. Because you're _my girl._ And because when I get hungry, it makes my mouth all runny. You never know _what_ I might say to any CaliCat coming along."

She'd been chased up and down the halls for ten minutes before finally escaping under a filing cabinet. When she returned, Whiskers hadn't even wanted it! He did things like making her sit in a chair for hours without moving so that it would be perfectly warmed for him at night. Sometimes he even had her lure henchmen and guards away from their posts so that Whiskers could sit in the spot they'd been standing in! He took his tom buddies out into the alley and had her try and catch rats for each of them, threatening and mocking her when she couldn't.

She was getting more and more anxious as time went on; what would he make her do next? Clean his litterbox? Nap next to him? _Ugh!_

The worst were times like these, when he wouldn't let her do anything but sit and listen to him go _on and on_ about how best to be lazy with the other felines, with a few jabs at Mittens' alley life and scruffy appearance thrown in. Just when she'd finally tune him out, he'd notice her blank look and hint aloud at her 'strange habits' to keep her attention in line.

She hadn't seen Rhino for the whole week. She hadn't thought the rodent had it in him to really 'go dark', and now she wished she had been right. It was unbearably lonely and boring in the company of this bully and his lackluster peers. There was no chance of sneaking away and seeing Bolt's pigeons; Whiskers napped a lot, and she was an expert sneaker, but she found it surprisingly hard to slip away from him. Even when she could, the threat of him yowling her secret to the whole base was too high a risk.

"Left, hon, rub left!" He snapped, hissing over his shoulder. "What, you never learned the difference between right and left on the streets?" He chuckled in the direction of the two other two. "How did you cross the road without getting jellied?" They joined in.

"Yeesh..." Muttered the tuxedo cat with another rolling of her eyes.

She was reaching one hesitating paw towards his shoulder again when she heard a crash, dim through several walls of the base. It was so faint and far away, she thought she'd imagined it. Her notched ears flicked, and she froze.

"Hey, come on, pick up the pace," Whiskers shot another look at her. "It's not every day a chick gets the pleasure of rubbing _me_ down! Better enjoy it while it lasts."

Mittens wasn't paying him any more attention. Her white muzzle was parted, eyes wide, listening hard. Another series of crashes. She could hear them from the air vent across the room from her, echoing through the system from the other side of the building.

"Uh, _hello?!_ " Whiskers sat halfway up, his fetid breath in her nose. The CaliCats in the corner opened their eyes a little wider to watch him scold her. "Did I stutter, Mitzy? Or are your ears full of trash?"

If that commotion was coming from somewhere in the base, it meant something interesting was happening. The Locker was a minor hideout. CaliCorp. didn't use it for any of it's big operations. Had they kidnapped someone who had seen too much? Was there an intruder? Were the guards getting pushy with each other? Some kind of experiment explosion in the lab? It could be nothing, but it _might_ be something important. It sounded like it was getting closer.

"That's it, Mitz—" Whiskers stood completely up and slapped his lump of a foot over hers forcefully.

She snapped, frustrated, "Shaddup, will ya, I can't hear!" and lashed her tail at him before she realized what she was doing. Too late, she remembered that she hadn't dared to talk to her tormentor like that since he'd delivered the goods on her.

His squash-colored gaze flashed with ruffled anger. Before Mittens could back out of this one and save her hide, another rumble, like thunder, came from the next hall down. It was followed immediately by the siren bulbs, never used since she'd moved to this base, pulsing a blinding red. The security alarms blared.

The two cats in the corner shrieked, tails fluffed, and bolted from the room. Mittens tensed, her eyes darting to each wall as if that would help her hear through them. Whiskers' face dropped in shock and cowardice, and he shrank to the floor, ears flattening, looking up at the sirens. "W-w-what's going on?!"

Mittens didn't waste time. There were voices shouting and strange noises of conflict coming from the rest of the place, though it hadn't reached this room yet. She whipped around and dashed for the air vent. Maybe he'd lose track of her in the chaos and she could see what was going on before he regained his composure and came looking.

She slipped into the air vent and flitted away with Whiskers' whiny voice behind her. "H-hey! Where're you—?!"

When the monochromatic girl reached the west hall, she found it deserted and trashed. The potted catnip plants that had livened up the joint were shattered and overturned. Boot and animal prints from their soil spattered the ground. There were scorch marks, cracks in the walls, and overturned chairs, along with a guard's helmet lying person-less in the center. She pounced out of the ducts and slid along the wall, rounding a corner to find a similar scene, only this one was complete with busted henchmen sprawled all over the place, groaning or unconscious.

One pair of boot prints, smaller than the rest, led away from the scene. It looked like whoever this was was heading for the footage room. Instead of following them directly, Mittens decided it would be too risky to come bounding in on the scene of a fight and took the air-conditioning path through the walls.

She could hear shouts and voices, getting louder and echoing off of the cubed metal around her as she neared the grate. Suddenly, just when she reached it, the last one cut off, replaced by a peaceful, steady clicking. Mittens crouched in the dark and peered out.

This vent was high up on the wall, and looking down through the metal bars she could see the footage room, glowing with several different screens connected to a series of keyboards all along one wall, just like the security-camera-footage rooms she'd seen in other bases, but bigger. A huge filing cabinet was stacked in one corner to hold the films, currently dented and supporting the body of an unconscious guard.

And there, in the insignificant Locker L.A. Base, fingers flying away at the keys, young brown eyes intent on the nearest screen, was a fifteen year-old redhead in worn-out scarlet clothes, a helmet pack strapped to her back, her wheelbar contraption leaned against the desk beside her. It was Penny Forrester.

Mittens' breath hitched in her skinny throat. Her tail lifted and hit the roof of the air duct with excitement. Penny! Right there! Her eyes raked the rest of the scene below frantically. _But that meant that_ —

A hard yank on her CaliCorp. collar cut off her train of thought and her windpipe as Mittens was tugged backward so forcefully that she found herself on her back. She made an undignified yelping squawk. Then she was looking up into the angry, frightened, wild eyes of—figured—Whiskers.

He pinched his teeth around her collar again and thrust her around him, back the way she'd come, towards the opposite air vent and away from Penny. She scrambled to her feet and crouched, craning her neck, trying desperately to get another glimpse through the opening he was blocking at the Forrester girl.

Whiskers swung his head on his thickset neck to obstruct her view. It wasn't hard; his plump frame almost didn't fit inside the narrow ventilation system's space, even though he seemed to be shrinking away from the dusty walls in disgust.

"Whiskers!" Mittens gulped, trying for a smile, even though she could feel it twitching at the corners, panicky. "U-uh, I, I was just—"

He didn't speak, which was weird enough, just tossed his bulk into her. It didn't hurt, since it felt like getting shoved by a forceful rotting tomato, but she found herself bundled all the way out of the air vents and into the open hall, alarms buzzing around her.

Mittens regained her balance just as Whiskers squeezed himself out after her and plopped into her personal space. He looked awful. His tail was a toilet brush of fear, and his ears, too tiny compared to the squat fatness of his head, had flattened so hard they were invisible, which only made his decaying-veggie eyes bug out. "Just looking for your—your freak-show buddies, huh? Well, forget it! You're coming with me."

"But I—hey!" Mittens snapped as he threw his considerable weight into her and bounced the tuxedo cat further down the hallway. While he came on to give her another nudge, Mittens screwed up her muzzle, slicked back her ears, and planted all four white feet. She'd had enough. Seeing Penny made her realize how small Whiskers was in comparison to the big picture, the hugeness of CaliCorp. and the power and mission of Bolt and Penny. This fat tabby tom was nothing, and he'd kept her from doing her part for a week. The buck stopped here; if Mittens was going to get out from under him and back to her job, it was now, when the all-important Forrester kid was so close.

"All right, that's it, fatso, I've had it!" Snapped the cat. She was finally angry enough that her Bronx accent firmed, not a trace of anxiety within. Whiskers paused, but the wild look was still stamped on his face, glancing at the alarms again. "I ain't going anywhere with you. You're gonna tell my secret, is that it? See if I care! See if _anyone_ believes your dirt on me in the next hideout, cuz' I'll be long gone! Now move it or lose it!"

With that, she dodged to the left, faking him out, then slipped to his right and breezed by him. Her long, slender legs pumped her towards the air vent again, but, with another jolt of surprise and pain that started from the tip of her tail, she found herself on her belly. Whiskers could move much faster than his weight indicated. Maybe he was envisioning her as a perky tuna sandwich for motivation.

In an instant, he had one clumsy but heavy foreleg on her spine and one stamped on her tail. His voice was a panicky screech. "What, so you can run off with your crazy canine and his stupid human? I'm catching the first CaliCopter to the next base, and you're coming with me!"

Mittens tried to struggle away, but her fear at the rough physical treatment was climbing back into her thin throat. Time was running out. Penny would be gone in an instant like she always was, and with her would go all of Mittens' chances at freedom and contact with the heroes. Whiskers was acting like a cornered animal, and mission or no mission, Mittens wasn't big enough to get away just then. His weight was squeezing the breath out of her.

"And if I can't, you're gonna guide me through the city till we find one! You're—y-you're _my girl_ , Mitzy! I own you, and _you_ go where _I_ go!" Caterwauled the deranged brute over the increased rumbling and alarms. The base he'd been living in was falling into chaos around him, and he'd decided the only thing left to hold onto while escaping was Mittens.

And suddenly, straight through the nearest wall like a battering ram burst Bolt. The bricks, dust, cracked floor and shuddering roof didn't even slow him down. The White American Shepherd's momentum blasted him easily across the room. Mittens had time to catch one glimpse of shining white fur emblazoned with a black lightning mark and the light jingle of dog tags before the weight on top of her disappeared in a rush of air.

She coughed in the cement dust and got up, blinking with wide-eyed stupefaction at the debris and change of scene.

Bolt stood on top of Whiskers, who was now spread on his pancake back, screeching, coughing, and gasping all at once, all four legs flailing uselessly.

Bolt was the picture of authority with his tail and head high, ears pointed severely down at the tabby under his sturdy front paws. Mittens had felt as though Whiskers' flabby bulk was huge over the past week, but with Bolt nearby, she realized how much bigger the white dog was. The hero's shoulder and back muscles were so much sturdier, pressing down into the fluffy squish of his captive. His growl was so deep and loud, Mittens could hear it over Whisker's terrified squeaks and stammers. The tabby seemed to be trying to swallow and scream and cry at the same time, but nothing articulate was coming out. His dead-veggie eyes were bulging at Bolt in horror, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

The canine's glinting brown orbs hardened at the cat beneath him. He shoved his big black nose closer to Whisker's gaping face, and his lip curled to show gritted teeth. "No," said the Superdog in a steely, almost mocking voice, undercut with barely-controlled anger, "what you _meant_ to say was, you'll leave this base and never go back to The Green-Eyed Man's services, and you won't so much as _look_ at Mittens again."

The dominoed feline felt a thrill of joy lift her posture. It was really him! The sound of his all-mouth, resonating voice reminded her of how long it had been since she'd heard it—or heard anyone who could speak without coming off as annoying or unpleasant, for that matter.

Take Whiskers, for example. His screechy-whine was the complete opposite of the dog's tones, plus, the only thing that could've made his stench worse was adding a puddle of increasing sweat to it, which Bolt's presence did. His trembling sent ripples down all the fat of his body, making his carrot coat look more like it was made of jelly.

"Suh-suh-services...? W-w-wha...? Y-you—you're...! You're th-the...! I d-d-don't—guh—" The miserable lump beneath him couldn't finish any sort of reply.

The pearly pooch's feet were pressed into Whisker's chest. Bolt glowered from between his pressing shoulders, and a spark of unnatural green to his gaze was all it took to send Whiskers into more frenzied, futile wriggling.

"D-don't! Don't! Help! Wait! Don't! P-p-please...!" He squalled, trying to merge with the floor, away from the threatening muzzle above him. "Not me! Not me!"

Mittens' surprise and delight pooled into smug pride when Bolt's eyelids lowered smugly. "Oh, I guess you've heard of me."

He pushed a little harder and Whiskers managed to form clear syllables. Clearly he thought his life depended on it. "Nuh—I mean—y-yes! I have! I have! _Owww_ , I have!"

"Then you must know what I can do."

"Y-y-y-yes! Please! _Owch!_ I-I-I don't have anything—know anything! Please!"

The Superdog's lilt stayed mocking, but his eyebrows were coming together again angrily. "I've heard about _you_ , too. You haven't been treating my _friend_ over there so nicely." He tipped his long ears towards Mittens.

Whiskers' eyes didn't even leave his captor's face. They only got bigger with horror. "Me?! Wha—no! N-no no! I-I, I mean— _gulp!"_

Bolt leaned further down. Mittens hadn't seen better shakedowns on the streets. Whiskers was ready to pop with terror. "You're going to apologize to Mittens."

For just an instant, the tom blinked and hesitated, stomach heaving in hyperventilated breaths. Then Bolt's muzzle twitched in the faintest hint of a snarl, but the power behind it rattled the ceiling.

"Y-yes! Yes! Okay! Wh-whatever you—" cried Whiskers, but a stern voice cut him off.

"She's over _there._ "

Whiskers' managed to turn his head a fraction to the side and glance at Mittens in repeating, frightened flickers, although he never seemed to be able to keep them off of the danger pinning him down for very long.

Bolt coached him on threateningly. "Tell her you're sorry."

"Okay! I-I'm sorry! S-Sorry! Sorry, Mitzy!" He wailed, squirming.

" _Mittens!_ " Bolt's corrective woof sent dust showering from the cracks he'd made in the ceiling.

"Mittens! I mean Mittens! I'm sorry Mittens!"

The tuxedo cat smirked in satisfaction and felt her tail tip twitch, too. This was better than mustard on hot dogs and getting called 'Your Honor' by pigeons. Of course, Whiskers didn't know it, but Mittens doubted he was in any real danger. Sure, Bolt was angry—as angry, surprisingly, as she had ever seen him—but she know the Superdog. He wasn't a bully, like Whiskers. She doubted he would fry a nobody, a CaliCat, when he had the bum easily at his mercy. Too heroic. But Whiskers certainly deserved this scare.

"Well, look at that!" She winked at him. "I guess you _can_ learn new words every day."

Bolt stepped off of the feline marshmallow. Whiskers crouched, shaking, too petrified to run out from under the bigger animal's glare. "Now, are we gonna have any more _problems?_ "

"N-n-no! No! No more problems!"

"Good. Go back to the hole you crawled out of, before I Superbark you there."

With a absurd yowl, Whiskers' trembling legs managed to haul him out of the hallway, bouncing off of walls in his panic to escape.

"Don't let the cat flap hit you on the way out, babe!" Called Mittens.

"Yeah," came a new jeer, "you better run! Don't make me come over there! I could make a rug out of that coat any day! _Ohohoho_ , you'll think twice before you mess with Bolt and his team again! That's right!"

"Rhino?" Mittens was surprised at how pleased she was to see the ball-encased hamster, shouting as many warnings and insults and one-liners he could, even though Whisker's had disappeared. "When did you get here?"

"He's the one who told me what was going on." Bolt was suddenly next to her, his sturdy white flank brushing hers. "Sorry I was late. I had to point Penny in this direction."

She turned to him. It felt like heat from a nice, warm fireplace was glowing into her body, but it was still so unfamiliar, she almost didn't recognize the emotion. She tried to make sense of what he was telling her. Bolt's mission to find Calico was too important to take detours. He usually didn't even know exactly where Mittens and Rhino were. "You...you came all the way here...for me?"

"Yeah." He answered simply. His round mahogany eyes were so steady, looking back at her without the slightest bit of confusion or uncertainty.

Mittens gazed at him. Every time she thought she'd done her time, payed him back for rescuing her, for setting her free, for...for _caring_ about her, he'd do something like this. Something crazy and selfless. Something for _her_. Even though it didn't gain him anything. And she would remember what it felt like when she had a Person of her own, when she could trust someone to watch her back just because they wanted to, without expecting anything in return. But Bolt was better than them. He did this without even thinking of how it helped him, _and_ he did it knowing that it was taking him off track from his mission. Bolt went out of his way for Mittens.

And he was still looking at her.

And he was totally _crazy_. "But—how didja—I mean—" she sighed and rolled her eyes, raising her voice. "What are you, delusional? Where were you all this time?! You were finally off their radar! The Green-Eyed Man isn't in this base, you know that! Time's a wastin'!"

"Just like a cat!" Piped Rhino in disgust. "That's the thanks we get for pulling her tail out of the fryer!"

"It's okay, Mittens," Bolt smiled, tail wagging as they turned and padded down the corridor, the dog leading the way, "Penny knows where she's going. She's here to find out The Green-Eyed Man's traveling plans."

Rhino patterned along between their feet. "Besides, you know that entrance was totally awesome! Classic Bolt!"

"Meh," Mittens shrugged and stuck her tail in the air snootily. "I give it a seven."

"Oh, come on!" Cried the fanboy, "You totally loved watching that sickening lowlife squirm! Bolt can strike fear into the hearts of any mere mortal."

"Fair point." Agreed Mittens. She glanced at Bolt. "You could've let him sit there even longer, though. Let him start bawling."

"Nah, he'd had enough. Besides, my paws were starting to stink." The Superdog grinned.

The hero sent Rhino down the hall to locate exactly where Penny was. Mittens watched him go, still high on having them both back to talk to, if only for a little while. A nagging worry was pulling at her mind. Sure, she was grateful. But what if Bolt kept making detours every time she had a complication on her end?

"Thanks, by the way," she glanced at him sideways and shrugged it off before he could get all mushy. "Honestly, two more days o' that and I was gonna take a walk in front of a dump truck."

Bolt just smiled back. After a moment, she felt she needed to say something.

"Seriously though. You don't need to come bail me out. I can take care of myself, and I'm not worth you riskin' it all."

The honest Shepherd's eyebrows tightened, his whole open expression incredulous. "Of course you are, Mittens."

He said it so surely. So matter-of-fact. So seriously. She knew he believed it. But he didn't get it!

"I mean it, Bolt. You do something like this again, and it puts a bigger target on both our backs! It's too risky. You can't go throwin' away getting your family back for me."

"Mittens," his voice was stern, and she had to look right at him. Bolt was usually asking her the questions. When they'd met, he'd realized how naive he was. Sure, he could burn helicopters out of the sky and make _cars_ roadkill, but he didn't know half as much about how to be a regular dog, a good pet for Penny, or how the real world worked outside of his one-canine war. He had this...endearing insecure side. She sensed that he looked up to her. ( _Her_! Of all animals!) But there was no insecurity in his look, now.

"You're _part_ of my family."


End file.
